


Reveal

by cimorene



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Masks, PWP, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cimorene/pseuds/cimorene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've never seen a tear in your armor."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reveal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Batman Kink Meme, fall 2009.

Bruce has thought about this so much he probably has calluses on his right hand with Jim Gordon's name on them. He's thought about it so much that his arousal feels less like the warm tingle, the sweet ache he's familiar with and more like a punch in the gut - a rip in the armor. A rip in the armor with Jim Gordon's deft hands slipping through it, slipping underneath and touching him where he's vulnerable, right in the center of the most significant connection he's ever sustained with another human being, his partnership and friendship with Jim.

And also in the center of his chest, where the bat shape is raised on the armor, and he can't feel the warmth of skin through it, but the touch - just the flat of Jim's hand - the touch goes through him like a sword into butter.

"What's this made out of?" Jim says, and his voice is quiet, his gaze focused somewhere between Bruce's chest and the eyes of the bat mask.

"I don't know," Bruce lies, but it's true that he'd have to reach for the words right now. "Jim." To his chagrin his voice drops lower still, its hoarseness obviously unplanned.

"Don't," Jim says, muted but fierce, and looks up at him. "Don't insult me by saying things we both know. You don't - you don't have to ask for my friendship, and you don't have to apologize."

"You think you know what I was going to say?" Bruce lifts his hand slowly, leaving plenty of time to pull away, but when he covers Jim's hand in his, pins the pale flesh and blood to his chest plate with his black glove, Jim just smiles at him crookedly, dark blue eyes wide and serious. "I don't think you do."

Although the shaky breath Jim draws hits Bruce again like a kick in the ribs, a jolt of adrenaline, and his grip on the trapped hand tightens. It's possible Jim has a better idea of what they're doing than Bruce does - which would be welcome, as Bruce doesn't know a single fucking thing in this moment.

All Jim says is "May I?" He moves his hand, which is the only reason Bruce realizes what he's talking about, and he gives a little sharp nod, then instantly regrets it when he feels Jim smooth his hand carefully over his chest, around his shoulder and down his arm, feeling the armored plates of the chest shift to the thick, following the shape of the armored fabric sleeves. His touch is slow, but it's not hesitant. "I've never seen a tear in your armor."

Bruce feels like there's not enough air in the room when Jim looks up at him again, tentatively touching the joints at the cowl neck. "It tears," he grates, trying to drag his body back under his control - he's not moving, but his muscles and internal organs are involved in a mutiny, like all the instruments have gone haywire. Like he might not be able to stand still for much longer. He adds, "And it comes off."

Jim leans in closer and says, "I've always figured it did. But I think you have to remove it yourself."

Bruce tells himself he doesn't have time for that yet. He moves his hands, both of them, and it's Batman's black gloves he sees closing around Jim Gordon's hips before he closes his eyes and leans forward, seals his mouth over Jim's mouth.

Jim's lips are dry and parted, and Bruce shudders a little at the heat and slickness and the taste and licks deeper, closer, feeling for the first time in a long time _hungry_ from kisses, lost in the hot, sour taste of coffee and cigarettes and the smell of Jim which he _knows_ now, of all the smells he can recognize. It's visceral, the reaction to that familiar taste, the bristle of mustache and stubble on his face. Jim's squeezing his shoulder tightly through the armor.

Bruce's instruments are still going haywire. The one in charge of telling him where to go particularly is malfunctioning - which must be how Jim pushes him onto the sofa, bends over him and slides back into his arms.

Bruce slides his hands up Jim's back - surprisingly narrow; he's got a compact build, narrow hips, lean muscles at his back, faint softness around the middle. Wiry. Touch reveals secrets that Batman's never been able to see - the thin layer of muscle over ribs high on his sides, the hard points of hipbones under soft flesh. The only thing he can't feel is the texture of Jim's skin, through the thick material of his Batman gloves.

But Jim can't feel either, and he's touching Bruce's his face, with one hand, and even through the haze of kissing and Gordon licking lazily at his teeth, Bruce feels the movement of a callused thumb on his jaw, the skin rough and hard. Jim leans into him slowly as though Bruce can't take his whole weight at once - cautious, perhaps subconsciously guarded, ready to pull back as though Bruce might hurt him.

That hurts more than the last time the suit tore thanks to a very sharp knife. Bruce drags his head back, panting a little, and quickly strips off his gloves. The noise they make hitting the floor is metallic. "What was that for?" says Jim.

Bruce grins just a little. "Getting into your pants." His fingers are faster without the gloves in the way, and Jim's mouth makes an O of surprise when Bruce wrestles the zipper down and slides his hand inside - humid and warm, silky skin and scratchy curls under worn boxers. Just thinking about these boxers, after a midnight conversation through Jim's bedroom window, has given Bruce hand calluses all of its own.

"Jesus," Jim groans, and clings to Bruce's shoulders through the armor while Bruce works him fast and hard. His eyes are fluttering, mouth open - his tongue is pink, Bruce thinks irrelevantly, and all tongues are pink, but inside the suit Bruce is painfully aroused, and with Jim Gordon's legs spread across his lap, pants open like some dirty fantasy - Bruce licks his palm and wraps it around the hard length of Jim's shaft again and Jim gasps some unintelligible sex word.

Bruce wishes fiercely, suddenly, with all the heat of Jim's firm touch on his chest, to hear his _name_. He lunges forward for another kiss and Jim moans again, breathlessly, into his mouth. With the cowl and mask, the armor, the cape - there's no way Jim doesn't know who he's fucking, it's _Batman_, but he bites his lip when Bruce licks a stripe up his neck, instead of crying out anything at all.

That's all right, though. That's not the name Bruce wants to hear anyway. He dips his head into the silvered hair behind Jim's ear and wonders what it would be like: Jim straddling him, his shirt hanging open, more skin open to touch; Bruce without the suit, head thrown back in abandon, his hand in Jim's pants or Jim sliding slowly onto his cock, moving on him while Bruce held himself rigid with restraint and Jim touching his jaw again, his mouth, hands on his face and in his hair and mouth on his ear, whispering _"Bruce"_ as he took Bruce in.

Jim is shifting on his lap, still partly clothed, and Bruce has only managed to throw away the utility belt because he kept sticking his hands back in Jim's pants instead. The suit isn't this hard to take off usually.

Jim leans forward, mouth near Bruce's ear - but through the cowl - and says, "Let me touch you," sounding hoarse and a little Batman-like himself. That does it. Bruce practically tears the suit himself peeling the pants open.

Jim reaches for him, past the silk liner straight to sweaty skin and Bruce's dick. It throbs as Jim fumbles eagerly. By the time Bruce has his eyes opened again, Jim's shoving Bruce's legs apart and sliding down onto his knees already. He licks first, tasting what must be a pungent and intense in-suit sweat smell, before sliding Bruce's dick into his mouth. And, God, the feeling of that - hot and a little awkward, and Bruce is sweating bullets inside his suit, but the sweet silky wet of Jim's mouth around his cock is threatening to break him away from whatever's left of his sanity.

He would gladly have given a _jet_ yesterday to have Jim Gordon suck his dick. He's not sure it isn't still worth it at this point. In his head he's saying _Jim, Jim, Jim,_ over and over. Out loud he doesn't even say "fuck". He does reach up, when his face and neck threaten to completely overheat, and shove the cowl back out of the way, half-blind to his surroundings but so drugged on his own daring that he hardly knows what will happen when Jim looks up -

\- into his face, straight into his eyes still smeared with black paint, and arousal and shock war with recognition on his expressive face. Jim's head dips and he sucks, cheeks hollowing, and Bruce can _feel_ his tongue moving on the underside of his dick and Jim is still staring at him, his eyes bright and focused; his hands seize Bruce's thighs, though, one on each, and grip tight enough to leave marks if not for the suit's interference. That's it, Bruce is coming hard, and Jim chokes a little, then swallows. When he pulls away, his lips are shiny with spit and come.

He stands up deliberately, dark cock protruding from his open pants, and looks down at Bruce, staring really, with his eyes wide and a little shocked. It's hard to pinpoint judgment or consideration or the political concerns he must have in that look - Bruce doesn't fool himself that Jim doesn't know his true face, even in this dark. It's not that sort of look. Jim's face is... stunned, a little; feral, a little more; _hungry_, that's what. He's looking at Bruce with a kind of muffled, muted hunger, like a shout from far away distorted by distance - curious and acquisitive and focused.

"Come here," says Bruce, and his voice is rough with sex - but not Batman's voice, not quite. And he lets Jim come to him, still with that foreign look in his eyes, and settle himself before Bruce takes his cock in hand again. Jim's breath hitches, and he leans in closer while Bruce sets a fast rhythm. Jim kisses Bruce hard, biting and scraping with his teeth, and after he comes, he murmurs "Bruce", almost inaudibly, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Bruce might as well tear the suit off - he doesn't have any defense left.

End

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